I was in the kitchen, trying to wake up enough to prevent myself from being burned by angry coconut oil. I flipped a slice of yam with a fork and the oil crackled in protest. The counter was covered with lunch in various stages: grilled pork from the night before was suffocating in a crumple of saran-wrap, a bag of “power greens” salad mix eagerly awaited a balsamic vinegar bath, and peeled carrots looked skeptically at the small snack bags that they were supposed to fill. The kitchen, and by extension, myself, was in full “We overslept and only have 20 minutes before we need to be in the car,” mode.
My wife walked into the kitchen and before her usual groggy “Good morning”/hug combo, she pushed a small piece of paper into my free hand, “Thank you for waking me up! 🙂” it said.
To continue reading, click here.